During my recent time away from the revue, while I didn’t write or post anything, I did keep drinking beer. Lots of beer. So much that my wife put me on a “beer budget” each month, severely limiting the number of seasonal limited edition specialty brews I can purchase while also keeping my two beer refrigerators and my cellar stocked. (I know, it’s almost barbaric!)

Even with such draconian measures in place, there was one beer I found that I have purchased at least once every week since I discovered it. It was the beer that nagged at me in the back of my mind. It was the one that for the past two months has been quietly whispering to me, “Write a post about me. Tell the world about me. Happiness is only real when shared!”*

This, ladies and gentlemen, is that beer.

West Sixth Brewing Company is one of the newest and definitely the greatest breweries to come out of Lexington, KY. Started less than a year ago in April 2012, they already have a solid and well established fan base in Central Kentucky, as well as Louisville and Cincinnati. They started their brewery on three central ideas (from their website):

We will make delicious and creative local craft beer.

We will be dedicated to the community that we live in.

We will place a premium on being good to the planet we live on.

To address the second ideal, they donate at least 6% of all their profits to local non-profits or charities that work to improve life in Lexington. To address the third, they can their beer instead of bottle it to cut down on materials and make it easier to recycle. But to address the first… oh, for the first, they chose their I.P.A. as their flagship beer.

And this beer, friends… How can I begin to describe it? First off, it doesn’t need any fancy-pants punny name – it’s just plain old West 6th I.P.A. It doesn’t need the name because it literally speaks for itself. It has that awesome light caramel color and large white head that lingers for two days if you don’t touch it. It smells deliciously of fruity hops with a hint of booze. But the taste.

I have said before that a beer was balanced. I’ll admit, it was because that was a word I’d heard other reviewers use and it sounded good. But when I had this beer, the word was defined in my mind. It pours a delicious amber-orange color with a huge head that would stay around for a few hours if you didn’t touch it. The first sip is sweet and crisp and pops with fruit. Quickly the flavor transitions into the delicious piney notes that I have come to love in an IPA so much, and throughout it all the 7% ABV dances around at the edges, serving to cut the sweetness and warm the bitterness just enough to make you pull the glass from your lips in surprise, as if looking at this beer will somehow explain the smackdown your mouth just experienced.

“This is a beer. It is a good beer. A damn good beer.”

After my third experience with this beer, my skepticism was qualmed and my initial reaction confirmed: this is by far my favorite beer. It tastes as good or better than other beers twice as expensive without being pretentious. It’s like the Ron Swanson of beers – simple, plain, and the epitome of what it should be. Every time I go to Lucky Baxter to get my brews for the week I end up torn between a make-your-own-six pack and a sixer of this beer, or two packs of this beer.

For me, this is only going to get better. Because I’m an awesome surprise-guesser, I know that my wife is taking me for a brewery tour and dinner at the West Sixth taproom for my birthday next month, and I’m beyond giddy for it. I mean, who wouldn’t be?

Like this:

It’s been quite a while since I’ve posted. It’s been ages since I commented on anything. Heck, I haven’t even logged into WordPress since last August. There are reasons, but if I’m honest with myself, they’re just excuses. However, in the interest of full disclosure here’s the quick and dirty rundown of why I’ve been such a slacker (other than slacking being my number one M.O.).

First off, right around the time of my last post I interviewed for and was hired to work my dream job. As with most new positions this required learning a new role and its associated responsibilities as well as a move to a new town. This led to more than a little mental exhaustion and the desire to just sit on my couch each weekend and watch Gold Rush marathons on the Discovery Channel while holding my dog and eating super fattening ice cream instead of crafting engaging and witty reviews of delicious brews.

Best ice cream in the world. If you look closely, that is ONE. SINGLE. DARK. CHOCOLATE. CHIP.

On the upside though, I get to go to work at the most magical place on earth every day!

DisneyLand ain’t got nothing on this place!

Second, usually when I neglect something I care about for to long I develop this self-defeating mindset that if I ignore it somehow it will magically get better. Not once had this ever worked for me, but I still tend to do it from time to time. Oh well, live and learn!

Third, after six months of 1-2 posts a week every week, I got sick of writing about beer. I felt like my posts were getting repetitive and my creativity was decreasing rapidly. I wasn’t enjoying the beers I was trying because I wasn’t drinking them for the love of beer, I was doing it only to pump out posts. I got to the point that I wasn’t drinking anything I actually enjoyed more than once, and that was sad. I finally just snapped, bought three sixers of beers I loved but had already reviewed, and said screw it. Now, after four months of that, I think I’m ready to start again, but with a few new ground rules:

I review when I want, not on a schedule. Everyone will just have to deal with that one.

No more buying beer only to review it. If I like it or hate it or think it’s OK, I’ll tell you about it, but it will be because I want to.

Finally, it is my sad duty to report to you that for the foreseeable future, Carney will no longer be writing for The Beer Revue. Just like me, real life seems to have caught up with him. I hope that eventually he will rejoin me, because we all know he was the reason you all read this blog in the first place.

In the end, I think that’s what convinced me to give this another try.

Like this:

Summer is short enough, so I won’t take up much of your time with my list.

1. I now know what it feels like to be an oven-roasted turkey

INGREDIENTS

1 bone-in whole human

2 bottles of beer

1 large yard that needs mowed

Step 1

Heat earth to 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Place human, skin side up in large yard that needs mowed. Roast uncovered for 1 hour.

Step 2

Add beer to human. Roast for another hour.

Step 3

Remove human from yard and let stand for 15 minutes.

2. The money you save by starting a garden will be spent by watering it

Wife: Let’s start a garden! It’ll save on grocery costs!

Me: Great!

Garden planted. No rain for six weeks.

While wife is watering the garden for the 42ND day in a row,

Me: How much money do you think we’ve saved?

Wife: Shut up!

3. Bocce

This is an interesting game. Think: bowling meets horseshoes meets golf meets yard darts. It’s all of the games I suck at……combined into a game, in which, I was able to kick Mike’s ass! (Thanks for the lessons…AND strategy tips, O Great Teacher! Haaaa-ha!)

Call it Meatfest, call it Smokeout, call it Gluttony—no matter what you name the event, you’ll still hate yourself in the morning!

5. Summers need to be longer

I know that too much of a good thing can be bad (see #4), but twelve weeks goes by way too fast! If we could have just a few more barbecues, a few more poolside beers, a couple more games of Bocce, then fall wouldn’t be upon us so quickly and winter might not seem too long. Surely, two or three weeks more isn’t asking too much?! Is it?

That’s it for now. There’s still a few weeks left of summer and I plan to enjoy the hell out of ’em. I hope you are too!

Like this:

Hey guys, it’s Monday, right?
So, to start off and let you know what all is up in here, I have just finished a bomber (that’s 22oz, bitches) of Arctic Panzer WOlf, which beforehand I did NOT know was 9% ABCV and now will attemps tto write a blog post without editing, censoring, or correcting myself or my typing and shit.
In the summertime, someething weird happens to me, and to a lot of us, I would assume. I discover outdoors again. It’s awesome to be able to walk outside without putting a crapton of clothes on and to be able to go swimming and hiking and fishing and driving with the windows down. I absolutely love the summertime, but most of all because of my job. I work at a community center runb y a non-profit organization in a very poverty stricken area of the Appalachains mountain chain. During the year i go into the public scholls and work with the kids teaching them lifeskils and how not to be a bully and helping the kids who need a little extera helkp with their reading and math, but during the summer I run SUMMER CAMPS!
I have been working at summer camps in one for m or another since I was 14 years old, which calcuclates to 13 years at my current age, but really 14 since i have to count the summer when I was 14 and i’m 27 now so that makes 14 whole yeras. Shit, that’st like more than half of my life. I AM AWESOME!. anwyway, I love summer camp like woah. So much so that my wife and I met at a summer camp which is like the best summer camp in the world. This is where I cmoe to my current problem.

My drinking increases slightly when she’s not around.

This summer, she accepteed the job offer to work as the coordinator boss lady in charge of all the universe at this summer camp, which makes me love and lik her a lot. however, this summer camp is a sleep away stay there all summer kind of summer camp, which kind of sucks because she then lives there all summer and i only get to see her weekends and the only interaction i get normally is at work with the kids I do summer camp with, and my dog. this leads to situations like currenlty where drinking an entire bomber of a big alcohol beer sounds like a great idea.

Speaking of that, this beer is pretty much the this. Shit. shit and this share a lot of letters. Anyway, 3 Flowyds has really done a great job with this Imperial IPA. I find that I drink IPAs because they reeally relaly taste awesome. I love big huge flavors, and ISPAs really do the trick. I didn’t used to likee bitter flavors, but beer and my wife’s weird ass tastes have helped me learn to appreciate them.
Arckctic Panzer wolf is one of the smoothest IIIIIPA’s i’ve ever had (the IIII stans for imnperial.) It’s like the smoothest starting roller coaster ever. It starts out extremely smooth, very boozy and sweet, and then slowly but surely builds up sppeed until your mouth is on fire with awesome bitter hoppy hopness and you’re all like “YES@! THIS BEER IS SUPER AWESOME HOPPY HOPNESS BITTER GLAORE!!!”

Also, Dealdliest Catch is awesome. I have seriously watched like two seasons in a row without stopping before, even though all they do is catch crab and cuss and get hurt. I could totally do that.

Except this is the kodiak, and they ares stupic. TIME BANDIT AND NORTHWERSTERN FOR LIFE!!!!!!

Anyway, I also am not eatsing as well as when Julianna is here. She loves good food, and we love to have ufn cooking for each other. when i’m alone, veggie burgers on everything bagels and beer sounds both awesome and easy, so i end up doing that.
Also Oreos.

This actually was realyl good and a great ides except for the floaties in my frozen german gun lupien.

In closing, i forgot to talk all about how summer camp is stressful and fun at the same time, and how it makes me want to have a beer or seven when I get home, nd how that’s what happened today, buecause it happened. My teeth feel like gummy bears.

I didn’t see him come up behind me.

Actually, the first indication to me that he was here was the overwhelming scent of pine that hit me like one of those tacky air-fresheners. It wasn’t what I expected but should have guessed by all the time he spends in the forest.

Realizing his presence too late, the bite in the back of my throat was bitter and rendered me near-mute. In fact, the guttural noises I could hear were not any language I could interpret. The taste, hanging on in quiet desperation, would stay with me as I crossed over.

I saw my body slump to the ground and my head roll three feet beyond that. I always wondered if I would get to have an open casket at my funeral. Guess not.

I turned to face my destroyer. He was looking down at my body. His once white mask bore no expression but, by the tilt of his head, I could tell he was pleased with his work. The weapon he held was splashed with black and red and yellow. I cannot imagine what caused the yellow streaks. I probably didn’t want to know. He stayed for only a moment before backing away into the shadows.

I watched him as he walked away.

The night took his body. Darkness took his soul. But nothing could conceal his Black Heart.

Like this:

He sank down into his leather-and-microfiber-stain-free sofa, the normally inviting cushions serving only to insulate him, making the already hot, dry summer night all the more unbearable. Candles dotted the room, battling to keep the darkness at bay, fighting the night and the terrors that usually came with it. A hot, stale breeze blew lazily through the open windows. Flies buzzed around the screen.

Before him sat two glasses, lit by the soft glow of the candles. Both held the amber liquid, one slightly lighter than the other. One, he knew, held the promise of happiness; the bliss of memories and hope for the future. But the other…

He shuddered, thinking of what he was about to endure.

Slowly, he lifted the darker of the two to his lips and drank.

Instantly his consciousness was flooded with positive memories of his previous two weeks – swimming all day in the cool lake, the laughter of his friends reverberating around the mountains. The joy of seeing her again after spending so many sleepless nights apart. The anticipation of what could become one of those perfect days. The smooth, toasted malt flavor with a hit of caramel sweetness was the perfect compliment to these happy thoughts…

After a few moments, he opened his eyes. He felt lighter somehow, as if off in the distance a change was brewing – a hint of cooler weather, or the rain that the earth so desperately needed. A smile played across his lips, only to falter and die as his gaze fell upon the second glass. He watched it for a moment as the small beads of perspiration gathered together, running down the glass to pool with the others around the bottom, staining his wooden table with the ghost of itself.

Gathering his courage, he took a breath and drank.

No sooner had he set the glass down he was slammed back into the couch, face contorted in the grimace of one bearing excruciating pain. The burn of hops, the intensity of the pine and citrus was just too much. Images flashed before his eyes, tormenting him with the fears he needed to face. The cave. The pain. The screaming. The blood.

The bees.

All at once he was back there, back inside the swarm, trying to escape. They were all around him, crawling into his ear canal, swarming and swarming and stinging over and over – his back, the underside of his arms, the inside of his lips. The only thing he could hear was the buzz of their wings and his own screams. He ran, trying desperately to outrun them, only to fall headlong into the center of the storm…

He opened his eyes with a start, the scream dying slowly on his lips. He sat forward on the couch and noticed the ring of sweat soaking the cushions around him. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He ran his hands over his face and sat, elbows on knees and head in his hands, contemplating the two draughts. The promise of one was completely negated by the dread of the other. He didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly, off in the distance, the sky flashed. He turned with a start, staring intently at the horizon. One minute. Two. Three.

There. There it was again. There was no mistaking it. Lightning. The breeze began to pick up, blowing stronger through the screens, bringing with it the scent of rain. A smile grew on his lips, starting small in the corner of his mouth and growing into a genuine grin, his first in months. Without another thought he turned back to the table, grabbed the repugnant liquid and poured the rest of it down his throat.

The pain that coursed through his body was unbearable. He tried to scream, but it was lost inside his lungs. The Resin flowed through his veins, seeking out each small corner of his being and demanding he bear witness to the worst of his life over the past weeks. The vicious words. The back-stabbing. The insults. The derision. And then, finally, the lake. He felt the hands on his shoulders, pushing him deeper into the blackness. The air in his lungs screamed for release, but the relentless pressure held him under. He felt his body grow colder, and finally he gave up his breath to the deep and to the horror… the horror…

But then he heard it. The rain. It came in spurts at first, sputtering into being in fits. With each drop, the terrible visions were beaten back and he staggered to his feet, breathing deeply the cool air now blowing into his apartment. He braced himself against the door frame, letting the air and the spray cleanse him.

He turned with a grin on his face, spying the BBC Amber Ale still waiting, half-finished, on the table. He took the precious liquid in his hands and drank it down in one smooth motion. Then, as the joy began to well up inside him, he stepped outside into the rain, the first he had seen in more than a month. He turned his face to the sky, letting the cool rain wash over his face just as the cold beer flowed through him. He raised his arms in triumph, and standing there found the peace he had searched for since the summer first began.